


our lips are getting looser

by queendromeda



Series: tales from audrey james memorial high school [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Shotgunning, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 08:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17915324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queendromeda/pseuds/queendromeda
Summary: "You wanna get high?"It's a bad idea and Bruce knows it. Of course, that doesn't mean he says no.





	our lips are getting looser

**Author's Note:**

> this is trash. literally the most niche fic i've ever written. this is a disaster in the making.

"You wanna get high?"

Bruce froze from his spot kneeling on Jonathan's threadbare carpet. They were supposed to be working on a project for chemistry, unfairly weighted at 50% of their final grade, and so far they'd done nothing but awkwardly sit around, while Jonathan dug around his desk drawers looking for his chem notebook. He never found it. Not for the first time, Bruce found himself lamenting Mr. Galavan's dedication to randomly assigning them partners. The project would already be finished if he'd gotten to work with Karen instead.

"I— Excuse me?" he managed to get out, not sure what else, if anything, he could say.

Jonathan pursed his lips, falling back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh. "Do you wanna get high? It might help mellow you out."

Again, Bruce found himself taken aback. "I don't need to mellow out. What I need is a passing grade on this project so Galavan doesn't get any excuse to fail me." 

His voice, admittedly, may have raised a bit near the end his sentence. 

"Right," Jonathan said, slowly. "You are a picture of absolute tranquility. My mistake."

Before Bruce could say anything in response, his partner's attention had already moved elsewhere. He reached across his bed, over to his side table, his shirt riding up slightly as he did so revealing a line of pale skin, all so he could grab a lighter and a joint. Why he kept both in plain sight for anyone who walked in the room to see, Bruce didn't know, but he was a bit too preoccupied watching him raise the joint to his lips, lighting it with one flick of his thumb, to dwell on his lack of care.

The smoke fell from his mouth smoothly, and he met Bruce's eye through the dissipating grey wisps, looking far too pleased with himself. He gestured at him with the joint. "You sure you don't want to?"

In the first of what was probably going to be many mistakes, Bruce found himself standing without conscious thought. Maybe there was something in him, some tenuous, curious strand of self that had just been waiting all his life for the opportunity to make a completely ill-advised and under planned choice. Maybe he was tired of always being perfect, a walking eulogy for the memory of his parents. Maybe he just wanted a moment to be like the smoke he watched fall from Jonathan's lips— intangible, unconstrained, balanced forever in a state of knowing and not knowing.

He settled on the edge of Jonathan's bed. The mattress was old, cheap, with the springs poking up even through his quilt. He was nervous, of course, but the edge of it was muted. The warning bells in his head were dulled and hidden behind the sound of his own heartbeat pounding through his ears.

Jonathan hummed lowly to himself, before patting his thighs in what was a clear invitation to sit on top of him. "I'm not gonna bite. You can come closer."

It was with great hesitancy that Bruce moved onto him, feeling like he wasn't entirely in control of his own actions and incredibly grateful for the feeling as it tempered the horrible embarrassment he'd be shaking with otherwise. He settled his weight carefully, sitting on top of his knees, mindful of how wiry the other boy always looked, and wondered for one awful moment what he was supposed to do with his legs. He considered wrapping them around his waist, but he'd have to move and sit even farther on him, and that felt too intimate — which was saying something considering the situation he'd found himself in — and instead he just let them splay out.

He felt off balance and halfway high already, lightweight in anticipation. There was something heavy building low in his stomach, reaching out and softening his tongue, cottoning his brain. Jonathan was looking at him, calculating and dully surprised, reassessing something — someone — Bruce, probably. Up close, he could see just how dark the bruises under his eyes were, how long his eyelashes were. Everything was suddenly in high definition. Everything was suddenly a little too much, sliding over Bruce like a plastic bag wrapped around his head, yanked tightly, sealing the air into his lungs.

He rolled his shoulder back — feigning disinterest was as easy as breathing for him, a skill brought about after many long nights at charity galas — but there was something about Jonathan that sent his nerves into a frenzy. He kept his hands clasped together, resisting the urge to fidget. There was nothing to be anxious about. He knew that, logically, but all semblance of logic had fled from his head the second he'd settled onto the bed. The other boy seemed more at ease, doing nothing but watch him, too analytical for comfort. Seconds ticked by. Bruce squirmed slightly, suddenly, startlingly aware of the fact that he was stradling Jonathan Crane.

His heart beat faster. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all. He debated making an excuse, ducking out the room, citing some family grievance or friend emergency, when Jonathan finally spoke up, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Bruce couldn't help but follow the moment, hyper-aware of their closeness.

"You've never done this before." It wasn't a question.

For a split second, Bruce scrambled to understand what he was implying before reality crashed back over him. He turned his eyes downwards, focusing on the still burning blunt Jonathan was holding over his lap. It was such a small thing. He felt apprehensive despite himself.

"No," he agreed, seeing a million reasons why he should lie, but not taking any of them.

Jonathan hummed, working his lip between his teeth as he did so, and Bruce swallowed, his eyes turning up, towards the popcorn ceiling in the bedroom, away from the face of the mistake he was hurtling towards. "I don't want to hurt your pretty, little lungs too badly." He settled his free hand on Bruce's knee, drawing his attention again. His hand was warm, burning hot even through denim, and his fingers were long, and that weight in Bruce's stomach twisted around, constricting upwards, making it hard to breathe. "Trust me?"

"Should I?"

Jonathan smiled at that. He was watching Bruce like he was something worth watching, like he saw him, really saw him, and wanted to see more, to unravel every single thread that held him together, to squeeze himself into the stitching. He was watching Bruce like he was something he couldn't fully grasp. An unrealizable concept. It was predatory and honey-coated and Bruce thought that he might seep away into nothing right then and there.

"You'll need to get closer if you really want to do this."

It sounded like a challenge. There was something mocking in his voice, not fully, just ringing the edge, an implication, a preconceived idea of how he would react. It set Bruce's teeth on edge. His mouth turned down, and Jonathan's hand on his knee tightened for a moment like he could tell he misstepped, before he slid it up higher, mid-thigh, his fingers rubbing back and forth.

Bruce let out a breath, hoping that his shakiness was undetectable, a figment of his own anxious mind, and spread his legs out farther, pushing back on his hands, until he was even closer to Jonathan. Their chests were almost touching. He had no choice but to wrap his legs around him. Time stilled. Distantly, a voice in Bruce's head was screaming at him. He ignored it, pressing the palms of his hands into Jonathan's quilt, hoping he looked more at ease than he felt.

Jonathan's hand was still on Bruce's thigh. It shouldn't have been soothing, but it was. His other hand, the joint still held between two fingers, reached up to his shoulder, his wrist draping over Bruce's cashmere sweater.

"I'm going to take a hit and feed the smoke back to you, okay?"

He could have said anything for all Bruce could comprehend, but he still found himself shaking his head in agreement, everything around him fading to white noise.

Jonathan nodded slowly as if reassuring himself. He was still staring at Bruce, his hand was still pressed against his thigh, and there was something heavy balanced in the air between them. He brought the joint to his mouth carelessly, licking his lips before slotting them around it. With every movement, Bruce felt his pulse pick up, the blood roaring in his ears, his vision tunneling, focusing solely on Jonathan's mouth and the slight hollowing of his cheeks as he took a hit.

Everything seemed to narrow, after that. The hand that Jonathan had left on his thigh lifted up, settling on the back of Bruce's neck, his thumb skimming over his cheekbone, his long fingers warm against his skin. Jonathan opened his eyes then, his cheeks still hollowed in with smoke, and Bruce was taken aback by how bright they were, how blue. He didn't have any time to focus on that, the moment suddenly, terrifyingly there, as Jonathan began to bring him in closer, as if Bruce was boneless, pushing him in, pushing them together.

He closed his eyes. It wasn't a kiss, he knew that but it was hard to remind himself of the fact when there was another set of lips pressing against his, warm and chapped, and the shocks almost enough to make him forget what they were doing. Jonathan opened his lips and Bruce followed his lead on instinct, his tongue darting forward slightly, but, of course, they weren't kissing. Instead, Jonathan was pushing smoke into his lungs, and Bruce sucked it in automatically, head foggy, his brain working sluggishly. 

There was more smoke than he'd been expecting, and, once Jonathan pulls away, Bruce only managed to keep his mouth closed for a second or two before he exhaled again, a cough rattling through his chest as all of the smoke he'd been fed escaped him once again. It was lighter than the smoke that Jonathan let out earlier. It still burned his lungs. 

While he wasn't positive, he was pretty sure he'd somehow screwed up. He took a moment for himself, a moment of recovery, his eyes still closed against the intensity of the scene he'd just shared. As he came back to himself, he was, once again, suddenly aware of his proximity to Jonathan, the way he sat straddling him, his hand still at the back of his neck. His heart was beating fast as he took in clean air — air that was his alone, untouched by anyone else's lungs. 

It took longer than it should have for Bruce to come back to himself. He could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment, and, with great hesitation, he opened his eyes again, only to find Jonathan watching him with his shockingly blue eyes — and now that he's noticed the color it was like he couldn't un-notice them — watching him with something breakable hanging behind them. 

The moment was, suddenly, too much. The moment needed shattering. 

He couldn't bring himself to do it, though.

Instead, he found himself whispering, his words fanning across Jonathan's face, his fingers twisting around the fabric of Jonathan's letterman jacket, "How'd I do?"

There was a beat of silence, and Bruce watched as Jonathan's throat bobbed. He was also affected by whatever had happened between them. Good. "It was almost perfect," he said, whispering too, "You just need to hold the smoke in longer or you won't be able to get high."

Bruce felt high already, just from the anticipation, just from the feeling of his lips against his. He could hardly imagine a greater out-of-body experience. Still, despite that, he found himself licking his lips and leaning in closer. "I guess we'll have to try again, then, won't we?"

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @/jeromevalseka! 
> 
> feedback is very much appreciated!


End file.
